Idylls of the King
By
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Gareth and Lynette

Then came in hall the messenger of Mark,A name of evil savour in the land,The Cornish king. In either hand he boreWhat dazzled all, and shone far-off as shinesA field of charlock in the sudden sunBetween two showers, a cloth of palest gold,Which down he laid before the throne, and knelt,Delivering, that his lord, the vassal king,Was even upon his way to Camelot;For having heard that Arthur of his graceHad made his goodly cousin, Tristram, knight,And, for himself was of the greater state,Being a king, he trusted his liege-lordWould yield him this large honour all the more;So prayed him well to accept this cloth of gold,In token of true heart and fealty.

Then Arthur cried to rend the cloth, to rendIn pieces, and so cast it on the hearth.An oak-tree smouldered there. 'The goodly knight!What! shall the shield of Mark stand among these?'For, midway down the side of that long hallA stately pile, — whereof along the front,Some blazoned, some but carven, and some blank,There ran a treble range of stony shields, — Rose, and high-arching overbrowed the hearth.And under every shield a knight was named:For this was Arthur's custom in his hall;When some good knight had done one noble deed,His arms were carven only; but if twainHis arms were blazoned also; but if none,The shield was blank and bare without a signSaving the name beneath; and Gareth sawThe shield of Gawain blazoned rich and bright,And Modred's blank as death; and Arthur criedTo rend the cloth and cast it on the hearth.

'More like are we to reave him of his crownThan make him knight because men call him king.The kings we found, ye know we stayed their handsFrom war among themselves, but left them kings;Of whom were any bounteous, merciful,Truth-speaking, brave, good livers, them we enrolledAmong us, and they sit within our hall.But as Mark hath tarnished the great name of king,As Mark would sully the low state of churl:And, seeing he hath sent us cloth of gold,Return, and meet, and hold him from our eyes,Lest we should lap him up in cloth of lead,Silenced for ever — craven — a man of plots,Craft, poisonous counsels, wayside ambushings — No fault of thine: let Kay the seneschalLook to thy wants, and send thee satisfied — Accursed, who strikes nor lets the hand be seen!'

And many another suppliant crying cameWith noise of ravage wrought by beast and man,And evermore a knight would ride away.

Last, Gareth leaning both hands heavilyDown on the shoulders of the twain, his men,Approached between them toward the King, and asked,'A boon, Sir King (his voice was all ashamed),For see ye not how weak and hungerwornI seem — leaning on these? grant me to serveFor meat and drink among thy kitchen-knavesA twelvemonth and a day, nor seek my name.Hereafter I will fight.'

To him the King,'A goodly youth and worth a goodlier boon!But so thou wilt no goodlier, then must Kay,The master of the meats and drinks, be thine.'

He rose and past; then Kay, a man of mienWan-sallow as the plant that feels itselfRoot-bitten by white lichen,

'Lo ye now!This fellow hath broken from some Abbey, where,God wot, he had not beef and brewis enow,However that might chance! but an he work,Like any pigeon will I cram his crop,And sleeker shall he shine than any hog.'

Then Lancelot standing near, 'Sir Seneschal,Sleuth-hound thou knowest, and gray, and all the hounds;A horse thou knowest, a man thou dost not know:Broad brows and fair, a fluent hair and fine,High nose, a nostril large and fine, and handsLarge, fair and fine! — Some young lad's mystery — But, or from sheepcot or king's hall, the boyIs noble-natured. Treat him with all grace,Lest he should come to shame thy judging of him.'

Then Kay, 'What murmurest thou of mystery?Think ye this fellow will poison the King's dish?Nay, for he spake too fool-like: mystery!Tut, an the lad were noble, he had askedFor horse and armour: fair and fine, forsooth!Sir Fine-face, Sir Fair-hands? but see thou to itThat thine own fineness, Lancelot, some fine dayUndo thee not — and leave my man to me.'

So Gareth all for glory underwentThe sooty yoke of kitchen-vassalage;Ate with young lads his portion by the door,And couched at night with grimy kitchen-knaves.And Lancelot ever spake him pleasantly,But Kay the seneschal, who loved him not,Would hustle and harry him, and labour himBeyond his comrade of the hearth, and setTo turn the broach, draw water, or hew wood,Or grosser tasks; and Gareth bowed himselfWith all obedience to the King, and wroughtAll kind of service with a noble easeThat graced the lowliest act in doing it.And when the thralls had talk among themselves,And one would praise the love that linkt the KingAnd Lancelot — how the King had saved his lifeIn battle twice, and Lancelot once the King's — For Lancelot was the first in Tournament,But Arthur mightiest on the battle-field — Gareth was glad. Or if some other told,How once the wandering forester at dawn,Far over the blue tarns and hazy seas,On Caer-Eryri's highest found the King,A naked babe, of whom the Prophet spake,'He passes to the Isle Avilion,He passes and is healed and cannot die' — Gareth was glad. But if their talk were foul,Then would he whistle rapid as any lark,Or carol some old roundelay, and so loudThat first they mocked, but, after, reverenced him.Or Gareth telling some prodigious taleOf knights, who sliced a red life-bubbling wayThrough twenty folds of twisted dragon, heldAll in a gap-mouthed circle his good matesLying or sitting round him, idle hands,Charmed; till Sir Kay, the seneschal, would comeBlustering upon them, like a sudden windAmong dead leaves, and drive them all apart.Or when the thralls had sport among themselves,So there were any trial of mastery,He, by two yards in casting bar or stoneWas counted best; and if there chanced a joust,So that Sir Kay nodded him leave to go,Would hurry thither, and when he saw the knightsClash like the coming and retiring wave,And the spear spring, and good horse reel, the boyWas half beyond himself for ecstasy.

So for a month he wrought among the thralls;But in the weeks that followed, the good Queen,Repentant of the word she made him swear,And saddening in her childless castle, sent,Between the in-crescent and de-crescent moon,Arms for her son, and loosed him from his vow.

This, Gareth hearing from a squire of LotWith whom he used to play at tourney once,When both were children, and in lonely hauntsWould scratch a ragged oval on the sand,And each at either dash from either end — Shame never made girl redder than Gareth joy.He laughed; he sprang. 'Out of the smoke, at onceI leap from Satan's foot to Peter's knee — These news be mine, none other's — nay, the King's — Descend into the city:' whereon he soughtThe King alone, and found, and told him all.

'I have staggered thy strong Gawain in a tiltFor pastime; yea, he said it: joust can I.Make me thy knight — in secret! let my nameBe hidden, and give me the first quest, I springLike flame from ashes.'

Here the King's calm eyeFell on, and checked, and made him flush, and bowLowly, to kiss his hand, who answered him,'Son, the good mother let me know thee here,And sent her wish that I would yield thee thine.Make thee my knight? my knights are sworn to vowsOf utter hardihood, utter gentleness,And, loving, utter faithfulness in love,And uttermost obedience to the King.'

Then Gareth, lightly springing from his knees,'My King, for hardihood I can promise thee.For uttermost obedience make demandOf whom ye gave me to, the Seneschal,No mellow master of the meats and drinks!And as for love, God wot, I love not yet,But love I shall, God willing.'

And the King'Make thee my knight in secret? yea, but he,Our noblest brother, and our truest man,And one with me in all, he needs must know.'